


whatever it takes

by moonlitserenades



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Reaction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 13:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5166116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlitserenades/pseuds/moonlitserenades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver is missing and Connor is Not Handling Things Well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	whatever it takes

While Oliver is missing, Connor does not sleep. He does not return home, which has the silent, slightly muffled feel of a crypt and makes Connor feel like he might throw up or scream or die. He stays in Annalise’s office, popping Adderall like candy and swilling endless mugs of bitter black coffee. He rants a lot and paces more. He chokes down a few bites only when people put food in front of him, and spends his nights scrolling through Oliver’s files in a desperate attempt to try and find out where his kidnapper may have taken him. They come with him on his every excursion, and if he cared enough to pay attention, he might have noticed that they seem to be taking care of him in shifts. No one ever says anything about classes; every time he comes to them with a new theory, someone is willing to go. If they try arguing with him about the location, whatever it may be, he can’t hear it. If anyone tries to tell him he should try some water or some rest or going to class, he doesn’t hear that either. Even Annalise leaves him to his ever more frantic searching.

When they finally find him, bloody and gaunt and unconscious, several days later, every repressed emotion comes flooding back and Connor collapses. Later, he will remember how Oliver’s kidnapper (whose name Connor seems to have blocked out) reappears. He will remember a lot of shouting and frantic movement. He will remember a well-placed punch giving him a moment of relief, and how he clings to Oliver’s prone body and the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth is the faint pulse in blue veins of Oliver’s wrist. He will remember a gun pointing right at him, a sound like a firecracker, and a crimson bloom of blood on a grimy white t-shirt. A moment of half-numb gratitude that Wes had managed to be quicker.

Only then, the more immediate danger averted, does everything fully hit him. There is a sound like a wounded animal and it might be him it might be it might be and Michaela has her arms wrapped tight around him and she’s stroking his hair and murmuring some kind of soothing nonsense and Connor cannot breathe and he can hear Laurel on the phone nearby, the total, flat calmness of her voice not betraying the way her entire body trembles.

Getting Oliver to the hospital is a blur. All Connor remembers of the trip later is sitting in the back of an ambulance, clutching Oliver’s limp hand in both of his. Michaela is still next to him with her arm wrapped tight around his shoulders. The fluorescent lights of the hospital are too bright and he still can’t breathe, not until Oliver’s been seen and he’s heard from three different people that he’ll recover. He falls asleep still clinging to Oliver’s hand and wakes up with a hell of a crick in his neck, sunlight streaming into the room, and Oliver watching him.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” he croaks, with a valiant attempt at a smile, and Connor lets out a laughsobwail and throws himself forward onto Oliver’s lap. 

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” he snaps, his voice shaking. “Christ, Ollie, if you _ever_ do anything like that again I swear to God--” except then he’s kind of hyperventilating and crying too hard to finish the sentence and Oliver is rubbing his back soothingly, which is so ridiculous because Oliver was the one to go through the trauma. “I love you,” he manages, whimpering. “I love you so much and if anything had happened to you I never would have forgiven myself…”

“Hey,” Oliver says, and his voice is weak but God, he can talk, he’s _alive_ and he’s _here_ and he’s going to be okay and honest to God that’s all that matters now. “Hey, Connor, babe, shhh. I’m gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

Connor looks up, red-eyed and sniffling, and repeats for the third time: “God, Ollie, I love you.”

Oliver’s answering smile is small, but very, very real. “I love you, too.”


End file.
